


Over My Head

by hellpenguin



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hand Job, M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-14
Updated: 2008-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-08 03:39:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/72323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellpenguin/pseuds/hellpenguin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean needs sex to function and Sam won't let him flirt with girls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over My Head

"You know," Dean says as he lays back against the frame of his hotel bed. "I'd do the job way better if you let me have some _fun_. My right hand's just not the same as some of the waitresses you've kept away from me."

Sam turns to glare at him. "We don't have time for waitresses."

"I don't need _time_, Sam, I need a helping hand. Seriously, five minutes and I'll be right back to fully-functioning Dean in no time. Kickin' ghosts' asses and takin' demons' names."

"And that's five minutes I'd have to vacate the hotel room for. You know as well as I what happens when I leave for five minutes-you get yourself in trouble."

"Oh, come on, Sam. I think I'm getting blisters. A guy can't go for six months with nothing but his hand for company."

"I have." Sam stands up and walks over to his suitcase across the room. He tosses a bottle of lube to Dean. "Try this."

"Gee, thanks, mine was _almost out_. Yeah, well, you're special. A guy _like me_ needs to mix it up now and then. And I can't get any action if you fucking cock-block me every time a hot chick smiles at me." Dean stands up.

"I don't see how it's fair that you should get action and I shouldn't. Jessica-"

"Oh, shut the hell up about Jessica. She's gone, Sam. Get over yourself." Sam grabs his collar, narrows his eyes.

"Mom's gone too, Dean. And Dad's missing. I'll get over Jessica the day you and Dad get over Mom."

Dean pushes Sam, "Don't _talk_ about Mom. I _told_ you-"

Sam points. "I know what you said. But you say a lot of things. I'm finding it gets harder to believe you."

"I'm not the only one spewing bullshit. You think I'd lie about this? Look. It's been _months_ since I've had sex, and I can't think clearly. So either you let me get possessed because I'm too busy thinking about boobs, or you let someone else touch me for once."

Sam murmurs, low and deadly, "You want someone else to touch you? _Fine_." And Sam starts unbuttoning Dean's pants.

2.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Dean can't move, out of shock or fear, as Sam lowers his zipper and then _reaches inside_.

"I'm fucking helping you, what does it look like?" And then Sam's hand, Sam's broad, fucking warm palm, encircles Dean's cock and all rational protests disappear. Dean makes a high-pitched moan that might mean "Dude, you're my brother, get your hand out of my pants!" or "Oh God, _yes_," because for the first time in months, there's a hand on his cock and it isn't _his_.

Dean can't help but arch his back and let his head fall back into the wall. Sam moves his hand tentatively, lets his fingers brush lightly over heated skin, which elicits another moan from Dean, this time deeper and gravelly.

Sam uncaps the small bottle of lube and removes his hand from Dean for a split second to apply some (a second in which Dean's lower body follows his movement and Dean hitches, "Don't- don't _stop_") and then slides his hand back.

"Yessss," Dean groans and reaches his hands out to fist in Sam's shirt. "_Please_."

And then Sam gets an idea.

He squeezes his hand gently, enough to make Dean's eyes flutter open, unfocused and pupils blown.

"Get on the bed."

3.

"W-what?" Dean's eyes widen a bit.

"You heard me." He makes his voice steady and firm. He watches Dean get it, watches the muscles in his shoulders tense, loosen, tense. He gets on the bed.

Sam gets on the bed, too, straddling Dean's legs. Something about how Dean looks (disheveled, sweaty, panting hard) sends a thrill of desire through him, and he tries not to think too hard about it.

"Lift your hips." Dean does. Sam pulls down his pants and boxers and then pushes his hips back down. He flicks his eyes up to Dean's. Dean's panting harder, flushed, eyes half-closed. Sam looks back down.

Dean's cock is hard and leaking. Sam puts his hand around it again, wet with lube. He closes his eyes and begins to pump. Slow, hard, thumb brushing below the head. The way he likes it.

Dean keeps moaning, dirty, mouth open, and he grabs at Sam's wrist, tries to speed him up. Sam is having none of it.

Sam unwraps Dean's hands from his shirtsleeve. He looks him in the eye.

"Grab onto the frame."

"Just, faster, Sammy-"

"Are you going to make me say it again?" Sam starts to remove his hand. "Now."

Dean swallows and grabs onto the frame, white-knuckled. Sam puts his hand on Dean's lower stomach and meets Dean's eyes. Dean squeezes his eyes tight.

"Good boy." Sam starts to move his hand again, only slower this time. "And don't call me Sammy. I'm in charge right now. Call me 'Sir.'"

4.

Dean's eyes open fast. Sam watches the muscles in his arms contract as he squeezes the frame tighter.

Sam slowly pumps his hand, extending his index finger on the down-stroke to brush Dean's balls.

Dean chokes out a cry. His legs fall apart wider, wanting.

"It's been almost five minutes, Dean." As Sam talks, he sucks a finger from his free hand into his mouth. "You said you only needed five minutes. Are you ready to come?"

"Yes- yes, Sam-Sammy, please-" Dean gasps. Sam speeds his hand up.

"What did I say about calling me Sam?" He removes his finger from his mouth and lowers it under his other hand.

"S-Sammy, I can't-" His voice is almost a whine.

"Say it or I won't let you come." And Dean whines and clenches the frame tighter. Sam stills his hand. "That's an order."

"Yes- _Yes Sir_," Dean gasps and shudders and Sam lowers his spit-wet finger to Dean's perineum and slides it back.

5.

Dean comes apart. He arches his back and grinds his hips onto Sam's finger. He tips his head back onto the pillows and Sam watches his throat muscles work as he moans, loudly, coming in pulses all over Sam's arm. Finally he stops moving and sinks into a deep sleep, breathing eventually evening out.

Sam presses his fist into his crotch. He was so close to tracing the path of Dean's sweat with his lips.

He was just helping out. Dean needed release and Sam gave it to him. The dirty talk and the orders? Or more importantly, the hard-on Sam got when Dean called him 'Sir'? That had nothing to do with helping Dean.

"Fuck," Sam mutters and escapes into the bathroom.

6.

When he comes in the shower, water streaming down his back- his come mixes with Dean's in the drain as he slaps his fist onto the cool tile wall and grunts, "_Dean_,"- he thinks maybe _he's_ the one who needs help.  



End file.
